Seeds of Attraction
by AmaranteX
Summary: What if the attraction Alana Bloom felt towards Hannibal Lecter wasn't entirely her own, but something that was long ago planted in her mind, as a part of the cannibal's elaborate schemes? Hannibal/Alana.


Sadly, for all of the 'Bon Voyage' readers, I have no updates for you yet, but I hope this gift for the whole 'Hannibal Secret Santa' thing on Tumblr, will keep your spirits high until the next chapter is ready. I was actually not going to post this yet, but I decided on giving you guys an early Christmas present, and myself a nice 21st birthday present by posting this a couple of days early.

Please take notice, that this is _unedited_ as I decided not to push this on my lovely beta during exam times, so there will be mistakes, as my grammar and punctuation is terrible at best. I hope you'll enjoy it anyways.

**Chapter context: **Takes place in 'Amuse-Bouche' as a continuation of the hospital scene where Will Graham and Alana Bloom are visiting Abigail Hobbs.

* * *

><p>Alana silently took in Will's form, that was relaxing against the couch.<p>

"Have you spoken to Hannibal?" she questioned quietly, crossing her legs and resting her hands on the soft hospital mattress, being very careful not to stir the young girl sleeping behind her.

"No," he hesitated before continuing: "I haven't." His impatience with the situation was palpable as Will crossed his arms and looked skeptically towards Alana, in anticipation of what he knew was coming.

"I really think you should consider it," she spoke, her tone calm but insistent in the hopes that Will could be persuaded. Closing his eyes, he held back a sigh.

"Thank you for your concern, Alana, but I don't think it's necessary," Will replied - yet again - to the suggestion, that was steadily with every mention morphing slowly from a recommendation into a demand. But she was as stubborn as he was, and wouldn't be backing down just yet.

"Necessity is not always best judged by the person in need," Alana's quiet response came, her voice softer as she changed her strategy.

"Or in the lack of need," he countered, as he laid his head back against the couch, hopefully having closed the conversation for now. To his dismay, the silence lasted for all of 10 seconds before Alana decided to break it again.

"You know, there's a reason Jack enlisted Hannibal to help out the FBI, and it was not purely for forensic needs," Alana hinted with a quirked brow, successfully provoking Will to speak.

"I know very well why Jack Crawford recruited Hannibal," he replied in irritation, lifting his head from the couch to look at Alana. "He doesn't want my horse to be tied to a teaching-post anymore," he continued in a dry tone of voice before laying his head back against the couch; this conversation was taking a much too circular route for his liking.

"No more than you do."

This time Will did sigh.

"I'm not going into therapy, Alana. A vivid imagination does not equal a psychological disorder," he spoke with an impatient voice, hoping she would get the hint and stop pushing the matter, but he already knew it was a lost cause; Alana Bloom would somehow get him pressured into therapy, no matter if he needed it or not. It was just a question of when and on whose terms.

"No, but the fear that comes with it along with it might," she continued, apparently hell-bent on pushing him to his breaking-point, even though his mind had already been made up. "You had to do something terrible, Will. It's not a shame to seek help," Alana finished imploringly, hoping to have broken through to him.

She took his contemplating silence as a good sign.

"I'll think about it."

Alana gave up for now and nodded in acceptance before she stood from the bed with a resigned smile. Grabbing her coat, she said goodbye to Will before walking towards the door leading to the hallway. She stopped in the doorway looking towards Abigail with a slight smile before leaving the room; she would be back tomorrow.

* * *

><p>Alana looked up as she exited the hospital, breathing the unusually cold air with relief; it was a welcome change compared to the sterile hospital-air she had been drawing in for the past couple of hours. As she closed her eyes for a second to fully enjoy the sensations of being outside, a cold flake landed on her nose. Her eyes opened in surprise, and her hand reached up to feel the cold drop, that was now resting on her nasal tip. She gently dried it off, rubbing the liquid between her thumb and index finger in contemplation. 'Looks like it's going to snow,' she thought to herself and tugged her coat tighter to her body, before making her way towards her car with one last destination in mind for the evening.<p>

* * *

><p>Alana's glove-clad finger pressed shortly against the door bell. It took him a few minutes to answer, and by then, her cheeks were blushed from the cold, and her nose already felt stiff from the frosty air. The door opened to an - as always - pleasantly dressed Hannibal Lecter, with his crisp white shirt rolled up to his elbows, and an apron neatly tied around his waist.<p>

"I hope I'm not interrupting," said Alana pleasantly, a smile playing on her lips that were chapped from the cold. Her eyes immediately zeroed in on a red dot on Hannibal's nose, which spoiled the put together look of a competent man in the kitchen, and reminded her more of a little boy who had gotten flour on his face while baking with his mother; he must have been cooking when she interrupted him, she gathered.

"Alana Bloom, what a surprise," he replied, his normally impassive face lightened by an amiable smile.

"A pleasant one, I hope," she joked, absentmindedly rubbing her clothed hands together, in a desperate attempt to soak up some of the warmth oozing out of the open doorway.

"As always."

Alana hesitated. Normally, Hannibal would have invited her in by now; perhaps she was interrupting something.

"Can I come in?" she asked quietly, hoping not to come off desperate at her request; she didn't want to be a bother, but a discussion with him about Will Graham was long overdue. With no need for further urging Hannibal stepped aside for her, assuaging her concerns with his friendly demeanor.

"Of course, I was just preparing tea," his reply came, and she quickly stepped inside pulling off her suede gloves on the way. Unable to stop her eyes from traveling to the drop on Hannibal's nose, she stopped just as she was passing by him, only to bring her finger up to his nose, gently wiping the red dot perched there off with her index finger.

"There," she said with a smile, rubbing the liquid between her fingers like she had done earlier this evening with the drop of water that had landed on her own nose. Much to her surprise, the texture seemed off. The red drop was strangely thick compared to water and stained her fingers in a way that any sort of meat juices wouldn't, which was what she had at first assumed the crimson fluid now smeared on her fingers, to be. It looked more like… 'Is this blood?' she thought to herself, her brows scrunching as she finally passed Hannibal, allowing him to close the door behind her.

Behind her back, Hannibal's smile faded, and was replaced with a look, that made the frosty wind outside look like a mild summer breeze. Shrugging it off to contemplate at a later time, Alana took off her coat and turned around to face her host. Hannibal's face changed like at the flick of a switch, and he took the jacket from her with a smile, putting it away for her. As he turned back, Alana started speaking, obviously eager to consult him, in whatever was bothering her.

"I came here to talk to you about Will Graham," she started, instantly grabbing his attention. Hannibal inclined his head, silently imploring her to continue as he held the door leading to the living room open for her, gesturing for her to enter.

"I believe having to shoot Jacob Garret Hobbs is bothering him more than he's letting on," she continued as she passed by him, pausing in her speech to wait for him to catch up with her. Before she could continue, Hannibal answered.

"And you want him to see me, I assume," he asked, as they settled down in armchairs situated opposite of each other in the warm lounge, that almost had Alana purring at the temperature after having to stand outside in the dreadful, freezing weather.

"Yes, if I can convince him to go, that is," Alana replied, lifting both brows to display her thoughts on their chances of getting Will Graham to do something he didn't deem necessary.

"I can see how that might pose a certain challenge," his reply came before he stood and excused himself to the kitchen to prepare a pot of tea. Alana relaxed into her chair, that was much more comfortable than any the hospital provided, before looking around the parlour to take in the ambiance of the impeccable room. It suited Hannibal perfectly; It was exquisitely decorated in a way, that did in no manner speak of understatement, but reeked of expensive tastes. The combination of new and old; antique and modern, culminated in a dark allure that should somehow have Alana feeling curious and perhaps a bit uneasy; the walls were surely bursting with untold stories from the years of the past, but despite it all, she found herself completely at ease and relaxed within these beautifully adorned walls.

Lost in thought, Alana failed to notice Hannibal reentering the room, now carrying a tray holding 2 cups and saucers and a see-through teapot filled with an amber liquid. The dull thump of the tray meeting the nearest table brought Alana out of her reverie and directed her attention towards the - now present - owner of the house. She eyed the tea with ill-disguised curiosity and found herself leaning forward to catch a whiff of the steam puffing from the freshly brewed cup of tea Hannibal poured for her, not noticing that his cup was already full.

"What is this?" she questioned, forsaking the handle to bring the cup into her hands, taking in the warmth seeping through the porcelain of the cup.

"It is a special mushroom tea," Hannibal started, daintily bringing his own cup to his mouth to take a small sip of the hot tea. He carefully placed the cup down on its saucer before continuing.

"Our most recent killer's obsession with mushrooms and the intricate web of awareness these fungi grew to be a part of, made me curious about its stimulating effect on a web similar to its own," Hannibal explained, his eyes on the hesitant Alana; she had yet to take a sip.

"Magic mushrooms," she concluded, amused. "You figured you'd try it out on me?" Alana questioned with a teasing smile, now not entirely sure she felt like tea anymore.

"I believe this is not the proper occasion for psilocybin, but I do hope the Kombucha tea suits your tastes," Hannibal countered with a smile, taking another sip of his own tea, before watching in satisfaction as Alana decided to take her first drink from the warm cup in her hands. Her brows scrunched in concentration as she tried to locate the taste on her tongue.

"I don't believe I have heard of it," she replied, taking yet another sip of the strange tea Hannibal had presented her with. Alana didn't question his choice in tea, after all Hannibal was a connoisseur of fine cuisine and it seemed befitting of him to serve something this exotic and - to her - completely unknown.

"It is fermented black tea, with a culture of yeasts and bacteria. Its name - 'Kombucha' - translates into fungus or mushroom tea in the languages of its origin. While it is not technically made from mushrooms, the yeasts in the tea are specified as fungi," Hannibal elaborated, leaning back into his chair while crossing his legs. The explanation didn't further Alana's excitement.

"I see," she started with a raised brow. "I've never had anything like it," Alana continued, putting her cup back onto the saucer, which Hannibal immediately took note of.

"It is an acquired taste," he admitted, sending a pointed look towards Alana's abandoned tea that was slowly cooling beyond the drinkable, which adamantly ignored.

"Indeed. But since it seems you have dabbled in the art of fermentation, I'd love to see, what you could do when applying those skills in combination with more starchy materials," the reply came from Alana, as she too relaxed back into her seat and crossed her legs.

"Yes, I do recall your inclination towards beer."

His tone was as amused as the teasing smile on his lips.

"Good beer only," she corrected with a laugh.

"Perhaps luck will be in your favor the next time you come to visit."

Hannibal's words fell on deaf ears as Alana was suddenly distracted by her vision blurring, making her blink. Hannibal took in her demeanor with well-concealed eagerness; the strong blend of tea was beginning to work. She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, closing her eyes while bringing her hand up to rub the disturbance away, but as her hand dropped, it slammed harshly into the saucer of the cup and catapulted her cup of tea onto the floor with a loud crash. Her eyes snapped open at the clash and she quickly withdrew her hand, cradling it against her chest with a wince. Hannibal looked towards the tea seeping into his carpet with distaste; just because he drugged her, she didn't have to ruin his expensive rug. He brought on a look of concern just as Alana looked up with apologetic eyes, preparing to get up to get a dish towel from the kitchen.

"I'm so sorry, Hannibal, I must be tired from spending the whole day at the hospital. I'll go get something to dry up the tea with," she spoke, as Hannibal got up from his seat and laid a hand on his arm, prompting her to sit back down.

"Allow me," he replied with a comforting smile, before turning around and walking towards the kitchen. As he passed through the door, she was unable to curb the guilt flooding her, at having stained the fine rug underneath her feet, and got up to pick up the tea cup still lying on the floor.

On unsteady feet she made her way towards the kitchen, pushing open the door with the cup in hand, but what she saw as she entered made her steps halt abruptly. Hannibal was standing at the kitchen counter, looking over a selection of organs, that he was carefully labelling. While this may not normally have alarmed her - Hannibal was nothing short of a culinary genius and used a lot of unconventional ingredients - the severed arm on the counter certainly did. Had this been other circumstances, Alana would most likely have turned around and run for her life, but her legs weren't cooperating with her, and neither was her mind as it struggled to comprehend why there was a _severed human arm_ casually lying on the counter. For a second she could have sworn she saw it move, but her eyes were suddenly drawn towards Hannibal Lecter as he started approaching her, his face calm and unreadable.

She was completely speechless and just as it would have been logical for panic to hit her, she felt strangely relaxed. A dopey smile started growing on her face, and the fear towards Hannibal that had previously staggered her, floated away like it had never existed. She observed Hannibal's now smiling face and noted with a giggle, that he seemed to have turned blue - 'like a smurf,' she thought - and sported two extra eyes on his forehead.

"Hi," she said, grinning unsteadily up at Hannibal. As his hand gently grasped his shoulder, she felt her legs give out on her for a second but couldn't bring herself to care, as Hannibal the Handsome Smurf leaned down to lend his support. "Up you go," he muttered as he lifted her up, his arms under her armpits. The sudden change caused her to experience vertigo, and her eyes lolled around her sockets for a couple of seconds before she blinked her eyes back into position.

She felt like she was floating. Her legs seemed to move without her consent, but she was too far away to give it anyway. It felt like only a second later, that she was gently pushed down on something comfortable. Her head rested against a pillow and as she blinked her eyes, she found Hannibal hovering over her. He was really ridiculously attractive, that man. She found herself desperately wanting to kiss him.

Hannibal scrutinized Alana with critical eyes, taking in her dilated pupils and lazy smile with great interest. The drug was without a doubt working.

A hand on his cheek interrupted his train of thought, and he looked into her eyes. Gathering up all the courage she could muster, Alana pushed herself up on the chaiselong and planted a kiss on his cheek, sloppily missing his mouth in her drug-haze.

Hannibal quickly realized, that Alana's dilated pupils didn't _just_ stem from the drugs, and not being one to waste an opportunity when it is presented to him, he slowly leaned down and met his mouth with her eager one. Obviously enjoying the contact, Alana's body sub-consiously reacted to his, and arched into him, pulling a hand through his neat hair before resting it on the nape of his neck. She craved his touch.

Her senses went into overdrive at their close proximity, and his doubtlessly expensive cologne seemed to explode behind her eyelids in a flash of color. Blues, greens and reds mixed up in her mind to complete a flawless image; one that smelled of the deepest ocean, the highest of skies and something strictly Hannibal.

She never faltered for one second, and neither did Hannibal even as she opened up to him. The new, more intimate feel of him against her, had her gripping his hair a little bit tighter, and her other hand eagerly taking in his body like the meaning of life was nestled somewhere in the dips and curves of his skin. His shoulders had her fascinated, and her hand - which by now had quite the mind of its own - slipped beneath the fine fabric of his shirt to examine his collar bone and throat with her touch, giving in to some of her most repressed curiosities. His lips left hers and lightly trailed down the soft skin on her chin, pressing a gentle kiss to her throat before he brought himself back up to be eye to eye with her. Hannibal grasped her cheek in his hand, his fingers softly touching her eyelids, prompting her to close her eyes. She hastily conceded and within a second her lashes fluttered against her blushed cheek.

His deep, hypnotic voice rang deep within her, and had her sleepy and complying with his every suggestion, bringing her mind far, far away. Everything she saw seemed brighter and sharper than the distorted colors her own vision was currently providing her with, so she found it easy to sink into her daydream, following Hannibal's every whim. His voice took her mind to her car. She imagined herself driving. She had just been at the hospital to visit Abigail and had decided to drive straight home, completely forsaking her idea of talking to Hannibal; Will would speak to him on his own terms when he was ready. She imagined herself at home, changing her clothes, brushing her teeth and going straight to bed afterwards, falling into a deep slumber that would last her until the early hours of the morning.

At his final suggestion, Alana slumped against Hannibal, falling into a deep sleep.

* * *

><p>Her eyes were heavy and sticky with sleep as she awakened. What a strange dream. It had seemed so life-like but the dream-like quality of her fantasy was unmistakable. Suddenly in doubt, Alana sluggishly pushed away her sheets and climbed out of bed. A pulse of nausea went through her as her feet hit the ground, and extra saliva gathered in her mouth, signalling she was very close to throwing up. She pushed back the bile rising up in her throat, and scarcely avoided ejecting her breakfast, as she entered her kitchen; it was probably the hospital food. Her bare touched down on the cold stone floor with heavy steps, and she soon reached the living room window overviewing her driveway. Alana was hesitant. Her hand reached out, and grasped the edge of the curtain, drawing it back to reveal the view of a snow covered drive. The view was nothing less but breath-taking. The street was entirely covered in a soft, untouched cloud of white, that was illuminated in the dusky morning by the street lamps, casting a gentle shine onto the snow. Her gaze moved to her car. She didn't know what she had been expecting; along with the rest of the street, the dark blue vehicle was white from the flurry of snow they had been experiencing, and any tracks suggesting her previous whereabouts were no longer present, having been covered hours ago.<p>

'It was just a dream,' she thought with a sigh, before her treasonous mind trailed back to the kiss. She had no idea why she was dreaming about kissing Hannibal Lecter. While she had always admired him for his prowess in the field of psychology, it had never extended to anything beyond that; she knew many had questioned their relationship as mentor and protege, and while she wouldn't deny there had been fleeting occurrences in which she had felt a surge of affection for Hannibal, that was all it had ever been. Until now. She could almost feel his lips on hers, his body pressed against her tightly and the tingle of his neatly combed hair as she ran her fingers through it. The mere thought sent a throb through her, one that she - even in her sleep-addled state - found that she couldn't ignore.

Too tired to feel guilty over using the image of Hannibal in her fantasy, she resolutely went back to bed, undressed and decided to let her hands do the thinking.

* * *

><p>Hannibal watched the world pass by outside the car window. The snow was coming down more rapidly now, than a couple of hours ago back home in Baltimore. As he had driven her home, Alana had been in a hallucinative state and completely unreachable; just the way he wanted her for his schemes. The evening hadn't turned out the way he had initially planned, but Hannibal couldn't find it within himself to care; this was something much more interesting.<p>

After all, the seed had been planted, now, all he had to do, was wait for spring.


End file.
